LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

©^p ©op^rigip 1^ 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



J 



THE 



]R1I)E OF BAR-(H)CAB. 



A TALE IN AVERSE, 



BY 



GEORGE MACDONALD MAIR. 



S'^' CO' 



§^ 



DEC aa, IBfi' 

New York : ^^^ ^^ wash^v^'.^^ 

C. WESLEY JONES, 

218 FULTON STREET, 

1883. 






Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 
1881, by 

GEORGE MACDONALD MAIR. 

In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at 
Washington, D. C. 



■IF I HAVE DONE WELL, AND AS IS FITTING THE 
STORY, IT IS THAT WHICH I DESIRED, BUT IF SLEN- 
DERLY AND MEANLY. IT IS THAT AVHICH I COULD 
ATTAIN UNTO.- 

II Maccabees, xv : 88. 



NOTE. 

Coziba. a Jewish rebel, in the reign of the 
Roman Emperor Hadrian, having assumed the ti- 
tle of Bar-Cocab — the son of a star — in allusion to 
Balaam's prophecy (Num. xxiv: 17.) and proclaimed 
himself Messiah, over 200,000 Jews rallied around 
his standard. This immense host was utterly rout- 
ed at Bitthera. a fortified city a few leagues from 
Jerusalem, by the Roman Irovernor of Judea ; Coz- 
iba himself being slain. The fiction that his fimi- 
cee on the evening preceding the battle revealed to 
him her conversion to Christianity and urged him 
to retire from the contest, as related in the "poem, 
and the whole of the second canto are, of course, 
deviations from historical verity. 



THE BlUDE (IF BA1{-C()('AB, 



CANTO THE FIRST. 



I. 

'Mid groves of figs and olive wood, 
O'ershadowed by the sacred fanes 
Of Salem on the higher plains, 
The city of Bitthera stood ; 
That fortress where, of old, along 
Those hills once refluent witli song, 
The mightiest army took its stand 
That Israel could to arms command 
Since Titus' victory laid the shrine 



2 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

In ashes, fondly deemed divine. 

Far off, and semi-circling high, 

The peaks of Moab bound the eye, 

And form, since further sight is ceased, 

The blue horizon of the east, 

And, nearer, in the shadow seen, 

The arid desert drifts between. 

And, westward, when the eye has passed 

Of the uneven hills, the last. 

The land in one descending plain 

Slopes gently to that tideless main 

That softly laps or wildly raves 

Its impotent and harmless waves. 

II. 
Bitthera — who of all that tread 
That spot, its tale have rightly read ? 
Or pause to pay the homage there 
Such hallowed scenes should ever shared' 
For there, though crushed by weary years 
Of vassal life and exile tears. 



THE BRIDE OE BAR-COCA B. 

The slumbering heroism woke. 

Of souls that chafed beneath the yoke, 

Wliile faltering Freedom, loth to flee . 

The clime of her nativitv, 

Still tamed with the hearts of flame 

That to her final rally came : 

There, on that very field arrayed 

The last, fond, vain attempt was made, 

Yet few — ah none — e''er stop to trace 

The mournful history of the place. 

Or grant the tribute of a tear 

To memories Freedom should revere; 

For such the vandalism of Time, 

And famine's dearth and despot's crime, 

That not a vestige now is there 

To point their courage or despair, 

And even tradition lingers not 

To sanctify th' neglected spot. 

Or aid him whose unworthy verse 

Would seek the story to rehearse. 



4 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

III. 

The ev^e falls soon, but lingering still, 
Day trails in beanty o'er the hill, 
As to dispel with lovelier light 
The gathering darkness of the night. 
The breeze is sprung and wafts along 

The odorons breath of wild-grown flowers, 
The echoes of the bird's last song, 

Still floating through the woody bowers, 
The dew is fallen on bud and leaf 
That seem the fairer in their grief ; 
Above, the mellow moon is bright. 
Without a cloud to veil her light. 
And the hushed stars upon the coast 
Of heaven array their twinkling host 
And shine that softness o'er the hour, 
Oh ! who has loved nor felt its power ! 

IV. 
Within a boAver by sheltering trees 

Protected from Intrusion's gaze. 



thp: bride of bar-cocab. 

Mine eye a sudden vision sees. 
Obscure at fii-st, but, by degrees, 
In bold relief the scene I trace ; 
A man of sad, upbraiding face. 
And, bv his side-, a form of grace, 
The Dryad of this lonely place. 
Far, far, thejVe left behind, I \veen. 
Their native and familiar scene 
Whate'er their errand is, and here 
Are safe from any listening eai'. 
Thus much I reason from the sweat 
With which the chargers' flanks is wet, 
That, tethered near for instant aid, 
Crop lazily the grassy glade. 
Whose strong, lithe limbs in time of need. 
Might Ayell l)e deemed a thing of sj^eed. 

V. 
An open helmet lies hard by 

The mound on which they sit, as though 
He felt it weigh oppressively 



b TITE BTHD-E" OT" BAK-GOCAK. 

And had removed it from his brow, 
A coat of mail enwraps hi^. breast, 
And greaves around his legs are laced. 
Beside hi& helmet^ too, are laid 
A Spanish sword of finest blade,, 
And, ready for his instant gi^asp. 
The pilnm, such as Komans clasp, 
But all appear, in sooth, alien 
At such a time, in such a scene. 

VI. 
But not alone his garb betrays 
A want of harmony with the place, 
I see it in his gloomy face ; 
For o'er that brow is darkening there 
The shadow of a crashing care, 
That seems a shade less than despah-. 
All feelings that the heart can know — 
Regret, defeated hope, and woe. 
The passion-chaos of the breast, 
I trace upon his face impressed ; 



THE BlilDE OP BAli-C;OCAB. 4 

Tet, conquering all, and chastening down 

Each hasty word and rising frown, 

I note that gentleness of love, 

That son-ow^s tempest oonld not move, 

That bade the will of self be spurned. 

And ceased f upbraid even while it mourned. 

VII, 
And she, whose story he had heard 
And quivered at each blighting word, 
That to his boding heart had seemed 
The knell of all he hoped or dreamed, 
She turns her gaze on him, her eye 
Filled with the tear of sympathy, 
As one whose heart had felt constrained 
To tell the secret it contained, 
Yet mourned each word it had to speak — - 
But oh 1 that dewy eye and cheek, 
Seemed to have added loveliness, 
If such could be, in her distress ; 
And those fair lips, that arching brow. 



8 THE BRIDE OF EAR-C?OCAB. 

Had ne'er so tem2)ting been as noWy 
When sorrowing for another's woe. 
How tame then must mj verse express 
The increase of that loveliness, 
Which was a thing far too divine 
For human language to define, 
The outward profile it might give, 
But not the soul that made it live, 
And lit the beauty of that face 
With something more than earthly grace 
A halo from the blessed place ! 

VIII. 
"Oh Ruth I of all my foes," he said, 
"From thee I have the most to dread. 
Thy frown can do my heart more harm 

Than Roman powder, or Roman guile, 
For victory loses half its charm 

If unrewarded by thy smile. 
Oh I oft Pve scorned the coward soul 
Whose valor owned a maid's control. 



THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

And scoffed the courage such supplies 
In ruby lips or sparkling eyes, 
But Love has wrought his* own revenge 
And seared a heart he shall not change. 
Too true, they say, who call the love 

Of woman but a fickle thing — 
A fancy which a glance can move, 

And just as quickly put to wing." 
IX. 
''Nay, but indeed thou art unjust," 
She answered to his closing thrust, 
''Did I not love thee more than life 
I would not risk mine in such strife, 
Nor leave my family and my home. 
Such uncongenial scenes to roam, 
Nor brave it, since arise it must. 
The scandal, too, like thee, unjust. 
And if, in sooth, my faith is changed, 
My heart from thee is not estranged. 
( )h ! little dost thou reck the pain, 



10 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

Unrested heart and weary brain, 
The long, long days of donbts and fears. 
The nights that seemed prolonged to years. 
Before my heart and mind and will, 
Half won and half rebellions still. 
Made full surrender to the creed 
That wakes thy bitterest hate and deed. 
Bnt whose the f anlt ? if fault there be 
It rests with thee, Bar-Cocab, thee. 
The Christian captive was thy friend. 
To whom thou bad'st me to extend 
Such courtesy as he might claim 
That would not compromise my name : 
I gave such care, the white-haired man 
Whose years were running o'er their span, 
Beguiled the w^eary hours of death 
With histories of his life and faith. 
I saw in death his eyelids close 
As fearless as a babe's repose. 
And yet a captive and with foes ! 



THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 11 

He was in life and death a saint 

Who made no murmnr nor complaint. 

In all those weary months of grief, 

Kor sighed for freedom nor relief. 

What marvel that the faith whose power 

Sustained him through each lonely hour, 

Found me unable thus to cope. 

With no such faith and no such hope. 

And conquered when my heart found peace 

By resting on that Cross and grace. 

Oh I darling, scoffer as thou art. 

Oh ! let that Cross subdue thy heart. 

For dark, indeed, the end I see 

Of this wild life will prove to thee. 

And darker still, perchance, to me !" 

X. 
^'I ? God of Abraham forbid ! 
That were worse sin than Israel did. 
When in the wilderness they prayed 
[Into the idol Aaron made. 



12 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

It were strange humor in my spleen 
To bow before the Nazarene, 
Who have made many of his faith 
To join him in his felon's death. 
Would such had been the bishop's fate ! 
Nor had I been compassionate. 
Save that my sire once owed his life 
To his strong arm in battled strife, 
In earlier years upon the field. 
When both a patriot's sword did wield 
Against the foe I fight (that deed 
Was ere he had abjured his creed.) 
And well my kindness he repaid, 
To proselyte a guileless maid, 
But say no more — a faithless name. 
The taunt of an apostate's shame 
Shall never darken my fair fame. 
Nor time, however dark my deed. 
E'er prove me recreant to my creed ! 



THE BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 13 

XI. 

"]N"ay, Israel's God once more shall bless 
With choicest gifts His chosen race. 
Dost think He can forswear His oath 
As lightly as a maid her troth ? 
Or deem that Israel ne'er shall taste 
The future that her seers forecast ? 
Nay, Israel's sins and cowardice 
Have barred us from the Paradise 
( )ur God reserves for him whose faith 

Can trust His promises, nor cower 
Beneath a mortal tyrant's wrath 

While resting on Almighty power. 
As Joshua dared and Gideon, 
So may I be their worthy son ! 
But come, whatever fate be mine 

The die is cast — I shall not shrink, 
I have but one life to resign. 

And should my trampled country sink 
To deeper subjugation, I 



14 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

Would rather in her service die, 
Than live to linger out my days 
The slave the heathen tyrant sways. — 
Come, let us to the tent return 

And hide thy secret in thy breast, 

Lest even I could not arrest 
The vengence I alone should mourn." 

XII. 
She rose and stood irresolute ; 

Then flung herself upon his breast , 
And hung her head a moment mute, 

By love and sorrow both possessed — 
"Say, dearest — oh ! too dear thou art ! 
Come, let me read thine inmost heart. 
Because my childhood's faith is changed, 
Say, is thy love from me estranged ? 
I charge thee, let thy words be sooth. 
Oh dost thou love me still in truth ? 
If not, oh send me from thee now. 
Yet not in w^ords the change avow ; 



THE BKIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 15 

I could not bear to hear those lips 
Pronounce affection's harsh eclipse ; 
Nor yet could bear with thee to stay. 
And know that love had died away ; 
But rather let me go alone, 
]^or hear thy heart's dread, altered tone. 
There is a solitary place 
For those who know the heavenly grace, 
Where woman may renounce for e'er 
The outside world and all its care. 
And spend her life in fasts and prayer. 
The God who gave His Son for me, 
Will guide my footsteps as I flee. 
Such would I seek and there forget, 

Perchance, my unrequited love. 
Oh ! if thou dost not love me yet 

Let my last wish thy bosom move." 
XIII. 
He rained upon her upturned lips 

Fierce kisses, passionate and fast — 



16 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

''Kot love thee, sweet ? the insect sips 
From many flowers a flippant taste ; 

So may the dainty soldier change 

His love from piqne or for revenge ; 

Not I, the love I did avow 

Is changeless, naught conld change it now. 

Not even betrayed, yet constant still, 

My heart conld not desire thee ill. 

And yet this very constancy 

But gives a deeper pang to me. 

For I had dreamed thee by my side 

My counsellor as well as bride, 

The star of hope that led me on 
From victory to victory, 

Whose smile was worth a battle won, 
And bade the fears of sorrow flee. 

And heard in my prophetic ear 

The tidings of my triumph near, 

And felt anticipation bless 

My spirit with assured success, 



THE BRIDE OF EAK-COCAB. 17 

Until the plastic present seemed 

Almost tlie future that I dreamed. 

Once more had Israel in that hour 

Regained her ancient, regal power, 

Once more my trampled country bloomed, 

My race their glorious march resumed, 

And I their king and thou my queen. 

Had reaped the blessings of the scene, 

The benedictions freely given 

To instruments thus blessed of heaven. 

Who make a people's slavery cease. 

And win them liberty and peace. 

And been unto all future days 

The patriot's type, the poet's praise." 

XIV. 
''Bar-Cocab, oh ! I weep to know 
How sure such dreams must wake in woe. 
How fair soe'er the prospects seem. 
They're even vainer than a dream. 
Let reason teach how weak indeed 



18 THE BKIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

Such paltry force is to succeed, 

The merest fraction at the most. 

To what the Roman power can boast, 

In arms and hardihood and skill 

The difference more unequal still. 

Oh, vahi the hope of aught to be 

But dire disaster unto thee ! 

And to what haven canst thou flee ? 

Since all the world has no retreat, 

But suppliant kneels at Ciiesar's feet ; 

More hopeless still, for who would rue 

The sorrows of an outcast Jew ( 

( )r dare offend the serfg of Boine, 

By offering him a rest or home. 

Nor death, that crowns a soldier's fame. 

To thee, would only seal thy shame. 

Since whatever aspirations high 

Inspire thy soul to win or die, 

The world has placed thee by her ban 

A brigand chief — an outlawed man. 



THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAH. 19 

Whose bravery is a desperate deed, 
Wliose sole ambition^ lust of greed, 
And ignorant of tby better will 
The stigma would o'ershade thee still. 
Oh yield, if reason will not move, 
Oh yield a captive unto love." 

XV. 
"My men are outlaws, it is true, 
But yet they only seek their due. 
Driven in exile from their land. 

And spurned alike in Greece or Kome, 
They know on earth no friendly hand. 

They see no hope, they have no home. 
The soil the tyrant lends to-day 
To-morrow's greed may rend away, 
And even life — the tyrant's hate 
Kegards no rights inviolate, 
A Jew weighed in a Koman scale 
Is lower than the slave of sale, 
The ready prey at any hour 



20 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAE. 

Of him whose hand possesses power. 
AYhat can tliey do then save to tnrn 
Upon the rnthless foes that spurn, 
And grasp by the same metliods, hfe, 
And wealth, and power, by Ishmael strife ? 
And what to me is hfe and fame 
The while my country lies in shame? 
Oh ! glance it over from this height. 
Beneath the moon's refulgent light, 
And feel the worship of the sight ! 
Behold our sacred city's fanes 
That ne'er a worshipper contains ; 
Behold those glorious fields and hills, 
Which now a foreign desjiot tills, 
And tell me if one might not bleed 
With rapture for to see them freed 
From his accursed power — yea, die 
With triumph in his closing eye ! 
My spirit thrills as here I stand 

And scan those holy haunts where once 



THE BlilDE OF BAR-COCAB. 21 

Men heard from heaven divine response, 
Mj disinherited fatlierland ! 
Which to describe is poetry, 

And even now seems floating there 

A spirit in the viewless air 
That bids thy people yet be free. 

XVI. 
"Wild Paradise ! even in neglect. 

Thy weeds of widowhood are fair, 
Although no loving hand has decked 

For weary years thy disrepair. 
Still partial ^atnre strives to veil 
The wrecks of Time and ruin's trail, 
Profusely still her gifts are strown 

In this one spot of sacred soil, 
That elsewhere bless no single zone, 

But ask a world-wide clime and toil. 
The spicy winds from orient shores 
Purloin for thee their richest stores. 
And all that greets the traveler's quest 



22 THE BKIDE OF BAK-C()Cx\B. 

Ill dewy south or cooler west, 
Are lavished on thy valleys fair 
And tempt the wanderer lingering there ; 
While even the Alpine Hower buds blow 
Upon thy mountain crests of snow^ 
Whatever the whole wide world can show 
All — tributary here combine 
To make this miniature world of thine. 
While ever loving heaven supplies 
Her brighest stars and bluest skies, 
And o'er tlie pleasant landscape throws 
An air of i)eace and calm repose. 

XVII. 
''But these are all that cannot die ; 
All else of glory and of grace 
Have faded and have left no trace. 
Like rainbows in a sunmier sky. 
( )f art or beauty of thine owm 
There is no vestige, not a stone 
llemains where once thy temple stood 



TlIK JiKIDE OF BAK-(X)CAB. TA 

To sanctify the solitude. 
The voiees of thy seers are hushed. 
The spirit of thy sons is crushed ; 
Xo more against Oppression's rod 
They rise to wreak the wrath of God ; 
Save Vf'hen some outlaw on the hill 
Strikes one frail blow for vengeance still. 
The song of mirth is heard no more, 
Nor festal dance along thy shore. 
Save when the harp that was divine 
Is struck by other hands than thine ; 
For thine have been the deadliest foes 
That e'er a peoj^le's history shows, 
War, famine, pestilence, and all 
That darkens nations with a pall. 
Have been thy heritage of ill. 
My country, and aiilict thee still. 

XVIII. 
"Ah me, when Memory loses sway, 
Then bid me turn from Vengeance' way. 



24 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

When I forget the deadly wrongs 

That now my recollection throngs, 

The years of shame, the dark disgrace, 

That conquers, then corrupts, a race. 

\yhen I can fawn and praise the Power 

That brought the sorrows of this liour. 

If Justice suffers me to live. 

Then come and pray me to forgive. 

But may the blackest curses rest 

Upon the recreant, coward breast. 

That for a moment's panse would turn 

To cease to make th' oppressor mourn, 

Or opportunity forsake 

Its hatred in his blood to slake ! 

May heaven turn from his prayer to save ! 

May earth deny the wretch a grave ! 

And all the powers of hell arise 

To lengthen out his agonies, 

Till even the fiends shrink in dismay. 

From one far more accursed than they !" 



THE BRIDE OF HxiRH'OCAB. 25 

XIX. 

He helped her mount, then grasped his blade 
And ponderous pilnni from the ground, 
Leaped on his steed with one light bound, 
And home they galloped through the glade. 
They rode in silence ; bright above 
The moon its radiant pathway clove, 
Its white beams softly round them thrown 
On tree and vine, unheeded shone. 
Brlo^ht as the stars above the bloom 
Of snowy blossoms wept perfume, 
The phlox in pinky beauty set, 
The asphodel and mignonette, 
The wild-rose with its blushing flowers, 
Unnoticed gemmed the grassy bowers. 
Yet 'mid the stillness of the scene. 
They felt their hearts grow more serene. 
His disappointment and distress 
Lost half its venomed bitterness. 
And she unwinged her hopes to soar 



20 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

To brighter visions than before, 

And viewed him, snatched from ban and deatli 

A happj convert to her faith. 

( )h ! who e'er felt his spirit shrink 

From cares 'neath which he must not sink, 

And let the midnight breezes blow 

O'er waving hair and throbbing brow, 

Nor felt his burdens grow more light 

Beneath the cooling touch of Night ? 

Sweet hour ! whose stillness seems a prayei* 

Though voiceless, o'er the brow of Care ! 

XX. 
Yet as he rode against his will 
Some sad reflections pressed him still, 
AYith all the heaviness and force 
( )f him who feels a recent loss. 
For the comj^anion at his side 
Had been a help-meet, loved and tried, 
Since both had conned the sacred page 
Together from an early age. 



TIIK BRIDE OF HAK-COCAB. 2< 

And felt tlieir liearts liarnionions burn, 

To see tliose glorious times return. 

In all liis schemes her interest lent 

To him a dear encouragement, 

Though oft they woke in her more zeal. 

Than his less sanguine breast could feel. 

But all this sympathy to-night 

Died in the altered proselyte, 

Whose eyes beheld with diiferent sight. 

And now believed those hopes to be 

To God presumptuous emnity. 

And, though so flippantly dismissed 

The WTjrds, that Euth had scarcely wist 

They gained a moment's thought — his heart 

Had felt them like a venomed dart. 

They surged it now with angry shame 

When he recalled his blighted name, 

Who far and near had thus been Ijanned 

The leader of a wild command. 

And she alone had understood 



28 THE BKIDE OF BAE-COCAB. 

The thought of his heroic mood ; 
For even his men were slow to learn 
The higher hopes she could discern, 
Nor dreamed a higher aim was his 

Than greed of wealth and lust of power, 
Nor knew that life possessed no bliss 

While Israel was the Roman's dower, 
Nor e'er had pierced his deeper mind 
To see they were by him designed 
To be the nucleus of strength 
To raze the Caesar's throne at length : 
Each member of the band a Jew 
To memory and to vengeance true, 
Selected with consummate skill 
A tool to serve their leader's will, 
Fntil at last his plans matured, 
A powerful host his call secured ; 
The proud and world-wide empire through 
A new ambition seized the Jew, 
The artisan forsook his trade 



THE BKIUE OF BAli-COCAB. 



99 



The trembling merchant grasped a bhide. 
And in Bar-Cocab hoped to see 
A second, greater Maccabee, 
And to his standard lent such aid 
Tliat careless Caesar felt dismayed. 

XXI. 
The offspring of a priestly sire — 
His grandsire had beheld the doom 
Of Israel by the power of Kome, 
Had seen her temple wreathed in tire, 
Had seen her liberties expire, 

And in her service found a tomb. 
From wdience Bar-Cocab's sonl had canght 
The animus of deeds thus wrought. 
Which in his more susceptive years 
His mothei- taught his greedy ears. 
By whom he had been dedicate 
To bear to Rome unchanging hate, 
Repledged upon her bed of death. 
And well he kept that awful faith ; 



80 rilK BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 

By many a village given to flame, 
And many a deed of 1)lood and shame, 
And many a tax»and treasure sent 
The cofl^ers of the government, 
Spoiled by liis lawless horde, attest 
That vengeance slept not in his breast. 

XXII. 
Yet lives of shame and deeds of blood. 
Were not to him congenial mood, 
Nor songlit becanse he fonnd delight 
In slaughter, and a bliss in light. 
Phenomenal men in epoch times 
Commit what were in others, crimes : 
He deemed the end he had in view. 
Absolved the means he did pursue 
As being to him, the instrument 
To cany out his high intent. 
This war]3ed his judgment till t' obtain 
Success, he spared no cost nor pain, 
And worse, it chilled his yielding heart, 



THE BKIT)K OF HAR-COCAR. 81 

When Mercy bade compassion start, 
Till, as the Gorgon looked npon 
The form that glance transformed to stone, 
He ceased to mourn the hearts that bled, 
Or shudder at the carnage red, 
However dark the deed of blight 
Supporting the imagined right. 
Still, even his worst extreme was less 
Than methods of the foe's success. 
And he could palliate his hate 
By pointing to his country's state, 
While Rome upon her seven hills 
For selfish luxury wrought her ills. 

XXIII. 
His years fell short of middle age 
And yet his mind was formed as sage. 
Such years, though few indeed their span. 
Transform even youthhood into man. 
Beset with dangers and with foes. 
The heart's deep longings, fears and Avoes, 



32 THE BKIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 

The mind's inteiisest tension stretched 

To work the plan its high hope sketched, 

These all were his, and marked his face 

With those stern lines such lifetimes trace. 

His laugh was far more grave than gay, 

His hair was prematurely gray. 

And yet withal no daintier face 

Had ever won a maiden's praise, 

Nor sweeter voice, nor milder art. 

E'er overcome an obdurate heart. 

Or supplicated Beauty's shrine, 

Tlian masked that outlaw's bold design. 

XXIV. 
'Twas yet three hours ere Morn should rise 
And veil the stars in eastern skies 
When lo ! they saw beneath their Hght 
A splendid though expected sight. 

XXV. 
Far as tlie mounted eye could reach, 
Encamped along the broad champaign 



THE BKIDK OF [i A !<-('( )CAK. 

[.ike sands upon tlie I'iver hcacli, 

A tented army stretched of men. 
Wide circling all, an earthen nionnd 
Knll ten feet high, formed ample bonn< 
On whose uiibroken height arrayed, 
Was bnilt a dangerous palisade, 
Protected on the outer side 
By ditches ten feet deep and wide. 
Distinguished by its greater height 
The general's quarters met the sight. 
Within the central space and round 
Tlie others had their proper l)oimd. 
The footman sleeping by his spear, 
The horseman and his charger near. 
And martial engines further reai". 
Where sleepless vigil did secure 
The baggage and tlie furniture. 
All drawn in as exact array 
As Csesar's legions might display. 



34 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

XXVI. 

In answer to some secret sign, 
The sentinel brought them in the hne, 
Where willing hands were waiting there 
To render every needed care. 
The lady sought her private tent, 
The chief to his, his pathway bent, 
And of his armor there undressed. 
Sought fruitlessly an hour of rest, 
While she with less unquiet mind, 
Soon found the sleep he failed to find. 

XXVII. 
At last upon his eyelids pressed 
The semblance of refreshing rest. 
When there arose a shout so loud. 
That thunder from the breaking cloud 
Reverberating overliead, 
Would seem to peal less deep and dread. 
And on the eastern palisade, 
A yawning breach he saw, dismayed. 



THE BKIDE ^F BAK-(()('Ali. ')i'> 

So suddenly the crumbling clay 

P^ell tlirougli or in the ditches lay, 

It seemed more like the earthquake's shock, 

Than battering-ram or darted rock. 

And such his semi-conscious thought 

Had deemed the breach and the report 

Had not his eyes seen through it poured 

The masses of the Roman horde, 

And heard the trumpets sound alarms. 

And sentries cry "to arms ! to arms I'' 

XXVIII. 
Attached to Bar-Cocab's command 
There was a straggling motley l)and. 
Untrained in arms. ( )f some the aim 
Was plunder — some liad Hed from shame, 
Both men and women — youuiJ: and fair — 
And even old Age crouched treml)ling tliere, 
Who fled to find a kinder life 
.Vlthough 'mid Battle's awful strife. 
Than bear their lords' im])ei'ious mood. 



86 THE BKIDK O^ BAK-COCAB. 

Or live in soulless servitude ; 
TlievSe skirted the great host and fell 
At the first onslaught in the dell. 
As when some landslide crunches down 
The mountain side upon the town. 
Or wdien in northern seas the ice 
Towers high like craggy precipice, 
And crushes into instant death 
The hapless ship that steers beneath, 
So, helplessly, they meet the blow 
And fall before the ruthless foe, 
And, maddened in their wild affright, 
T.ike frightened game confuse their sight, 
And trample down a greater host 
Than even the enemy's sword can boast- 
Men, women, children madly mixed, 
Trampled to death, by spears transfixed. 
How savage was the carnage there 
When selfishness urged on despair. 
And neither age nor youth could stay, 



rilK BRIDK OF IJAK-COOAIi. 

Nor heautv awe tlie lust to slay. 

XXIX. 
Stunned tor the moment and ama/ed, 
I>ar-Co('a1) at the coniiiet gazed, 
As still in donbt but all might be, 
His sleep's disordered reverie. 
Till, cleaving throngh his open tent, 
A pihim fell with force unspent 
Xud passing by, so near him pressed 
It almost grazed his unmailed breast. 
Admonished thus, he quickly dressed 
In armor, now too long delayed, 
And iirmly grasped his Spanish blade. 

And caught his pilnm in his hand, 
And to the front his progress made. 

To win or perish with his band. 
Once there, his pilnm had snch aim 
As two to kill, a third to maim ; 
And he such greeting gave his foes, 
That few dared stand before the blows. 



38 THK BKIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

XXX. 

His advent seemed to give new life 
Unto his followers in tlie strife, 
Who rush impetuously along 
Against the overwhelming throng, 
And many a Roman soldier dies 
As fast and fierce the pilum flies : 
And as from numbers they withstand, 
The combat changes hand to hand ; 
The broadswords in the sunlight flash. 
The gore spurts red from many a gash. 
While some with the barbarian's mace, 
On either side maintain their place, 
Until the fleld is red with blood, 
And pools of the ensanguined flood 
C.^ongeal, where, on the fetid plain 
The bodies lie of maimed and slain. 

XXXI. 
The cavalry, whose greater host 
The martial power of Rome could boast, 



TllK BRIDE OF BAR-COCxili. J^V> 

Became, so iierce was the onslaught. 
Detached from where tlie others fouglit, 
And met upon the southern field — 

With deadly power the Romans threw 

Their solid phalanx on the Jew, 
Who pledged to rather die than yield. 
With awful shock against them wheeled, 

And stood their ground, tho' many a horse 
Dashed from their ranks whose rider reeled 

And fell to earth a mangled corse. 
Again the deadly charge — again 
The wild repulse of desperate men. 
In bloodier combat than before, 
Themselves, their chargers, smeared with gore 
And maddened ranks thinned more and more I 
And yet again the sickening thud 
Of the opposing foes — the blood 
That from the men and horses flood ! 
Then the irregular sallies, where 
The Jews surrendered to despair. 



40 IHK ERIDE OF HAK-(()(;A1{. 

Wliose only liope was in tlie strife, 

To dearly sacriiice each life, 

And glut defeat with foeiiiaii's hlood , 

I'ill after the last rally stood, 

Of all Bar-Cocab's men but one — 

Brave, bloody, reckless and alone. 

XXXII. 
Tlie Jtonian horsemen ceased their strife. 
And offered to parole his life ; 
jVdmiring, envying, him possessed 
The stoic valor of his breast. 
He scoffed the life they would have fi'eed 
And dashed the rowels in his steed. 
And ere they saw his purpose dread, 
His sword had cleft the leader's head, 
Another and another dies 
Before they wake from their surprise; 
And hesitating then to strike. 
Another Roman meets the like, 
So rash, so di-ead, the soul can dare 



THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAE. 41 

In the wild f urj of despair ; 

But that last stroke hath cost him dear, 

Fie ne'er shall strike another here ! 

XXXIII. 
In many (juarters of the held, 

Bar-Cocab's mounted form was seen ; 

His life, a charmed life had been 
That day, for many a form had reeled 
In death, that by his side had rode ; 
But scathless still, though hued with l)lood 
He rode, inciting courage where 
The arm, at times, slacked in despair ; 
Until he reached the sheltered tent 
Wherein his lady-love was pent. 
He paused a moment to assure 
His heart she was within secure, 
When lo ! as if with wings endued. 

She past him quickly, wildly, ran 

So swift, she did not see him then. 
And by two Romans fast pursued. 



42 THE BEIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

Bar-Cocal) followed, gasping sunk 
The first, a headless, quivering trunk, 
When he himself beneath a blow 
Struck by the second, tottered low, 
AVho waiting not to ascertain 
If Bar-Cocab were stunned, or slain. 
Pursued, with still more eager pace, 
The maid whose beauty lured his chase. 

XXXIV. 
As her pursuer drew more near 
Her heart and brain throbl)ed wild with fear. 
Which winged her speed that to the eye 
Her dainty feet appeared to fly ; 
She scarcely noticed where, or why. 
The road she took — 'twas soaked w^ith blood, 

And now and then her fleet foot slid, 

So slippery and unsafe it did 
Make all l)eneath its clotted flood; 
But this she had not time to think, 
Nor of the eyes that seemed to blink 



THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. -1-8 

Upon lier from tlie field of death, 
As on she flew with bated breath. 
At times she passed two hving foes 
Whose arms in deadly conflict close, 
Or, now and then, a group who turn 
To cheer her as her swift feet spurn 
The ground, or blush for very shame 
As on her vile pursuer came ; 
But none essayed to aid her too. 
For was slie not by race a Jew ? 

XXXV. 
How long she fled she could not tell ; 
The moments to her frenzied fears 
Prolonged themselves to months and years. 
The distance stretched to many a league 
Of footsore hardship and fatigue. 
Until the landscape seemed to swim 
Then fade in darkness — every limb 
Uuto its utmost tension taxed, 
Quick as an eye could wink, relaxed 



44 'rilE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

Its faithless strength and seemed to be 

Palsied in her extremity ; 
With a despairing shriek she fell, 
His rnffian hand felt on her laid, 
His breath upon her hot cheek played, 
She dared not look into his face — 
And yet — who spoke those words of grace ( 
Was it a dream '( or did her ear 
In truth those accents really hear '( 
Sweet words, that bade her fear no more, 
But rest protected by his power. 
That on her ears far sweeter fell 
Than welcome after long farewell, 
Or to the exile far away 
The voice that sings his native lay. 
Or gracious Beauty's longed for 'yes' 
To Love's impatient eagerness. 

XXXVI. 
It was no dream, for bending o'er. 
With courteous solicitude, 



THE liRIDE OF BAR-COCAli. 45 

She saw a face whose features wore 

The impress of a noble mood ; 
AVhose words assured her of a friend, 
And brought her terrors to an end ; 
And near him, stood the ruffian there 
Whose evil spirit mourned to spare. 
Even while he sullenly obeyed 
The order that his general made, 
And left them at his stern command 
( )nce more on bloody fields to stand. 

XXXVII. 
"I am the Roman Governor," said 
Her new-found friend ; "be not dismayed ; 
Nor harm nor fear shall follow thee, 
As mine own sister thou shalt be. 
But thou art tired — I will provide 
An escort for thee, and a guide 
To bring thee to my house and there 
Thoii wilt receive the tender care, 
And the repose thou need'st to share." 



46 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

And ere she could reply, lie gave 
The order to his waiting slave, 
Who finding an escort and horse, 

By sheltered pathways guided them, 
[Tntil they reached, in. rapid course. 

The mansion in Jerusalem. 
And left th' exhausted maiden there. 
To find repose and loving care ; 
While they returned unto the field. 
In hopes it might some booty yield. 

XXXVIII. 
The strife was o'er — that noonday sun 
That saw the hard fought battle won. 
His vivid beams of yellow light 
Cast on a saddening, sickening sight. 
Of thousands that awoke that morn 
With hopes to see another dawn. 
Scarce hundreds marked the noon- day glare 
That lit the field of slaughter there. 
And they were prisoners, save a few 



THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 47 

Who finally for safety flew, 

Yet both, perchance, had better died 

In battle by their comrades' side. 

XXXIX. 
Bar-Cocab whom the Governor sought 
Was not among the prisoners brought, 
]N^or to his inquiry could relate 
A soldier what had been his fate. 
Until the latest straggler came 
And gained a transitory fame 

By tidings that were not gainsaid. 
"I struck him down upon the field, 
Then sought what other scenes might yield, 

Supposing I had struck him dead. 
Returning later in the day 
To where I left his body lay, 

I found that he had risen and fled ; 
What further fate befell his lot. 
Escaped or fallen — I know it not." 



18 THE BKIDE OF BAR-COCAE. 

XL. 

The Governor placed upon his head 

A large reward — alive or dead ; 

If dead 'twere worth the price to know 

The future free from that dread foe, 

If living, fortunate the hour 

That paid to hold him in his power ; 

But still suspense the less annoyed, 

Since all his army was destroyed, 

So thought he, as he turned his rein 

To reach Jerusalem again ; 

His men to follow when they'd paid 

Their pious duty to the dead. 
XLI. 

'Twas noon — 'tis night, who wanders there. 
At this lone hour among the dead, 
When even the spoiler flees with dread, 

With gory face and clotted hair ? 

Ah me ! how changed ! and yet I trace 
Bar-Cocab's features in his face, 



THE BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 49 

Unarmed he stands with forehead bare ; 
Then leaves tlie field with hurried tread, 

But j)auses on the lonely hill, 

Where he can see Jerusalem still, 
Or turning, view the sacred dead. 
Hark ! borne along the summer air 
His farewell message of despair. 

XLII. 
''Oh Israel ! captive and forlorn, 
Alas ! that I have lived to mourn ! 
Of thousands of thy people strown 
In death, why was I spared alone. 
To see the tyrant's swelling host. 
And hear his loud triumphant boast ? 
And watch the midnight of disgrace 
Without a star, gloom o'er my race ''i 
Oh Death ! why hast thou stricken low 

Young hearts enamored still of life, 
While I who wildly sought thy blow. 

Escaped unharmed from peril's strife ? 



50 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

XLIII. 

''For I had fondly hoped to be 

The promise of thy prophecy. 

To place upon thy forehead fair 

The diadem that thou should'st wear, 

To hurl the despot from the throne, 

Thy sovereigns ruled in ages gone, 

And turn the weary tides of ill. 

And show thy God was with thee still. 

But I have brought thee deeper wrong 

And stronger chains, — oh God ! how long '( 

XLIV. 
"Oh Thou ! who clothed in living fire. 

Didst choose us for thine own — how long 
Before the heathen feel thine ire. 

And meet thy vengeance for our wrong. 
Behold on yonder bloody plain 
The thousands of thy people slain, 
And where a smiling city stood, 
Behold a desolate solitude. 



THE BRIDE OF HAR-(;OCAB. 51 

Oil ! let Thine anger turn from us 
To fall on those who spoil us thus, 
And hasten the auspicious hour 
That ushers in Messiah's power, 
And ripens all the prophecy 
I vainly dreamed fulfilled in me. 

XLV. 
''I see Him — worthier than I — 

I see His glory from afar, 
When He shall bring salvation nigh. 

And chase the desolate clouds of war. 
Yet shall He come to wear the crown 
The ages keep for Him alone. 
Once more these scenes with joy shall shine 
That now in desolation pine. 
And shadeless glory bloom instead, 
And shine a halo 'round His head : 
And thou, Jerusalem, shall be 

The sacred city of the earth, 
When men from climes beyond the sea 



52 THE BRTDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

Shall turn their reverent eyes to thee, 

And bow to thy superior worth ; 
From thee shall heavenly truth proceed, 
-^y which the nations shall be freed, 
When thou shalt bid their sorrows cease, 
And breathe the benison of peace. 
The glowing centuries shall endower 
With all their wealth, thy gracious power, 
All art, all knowledge, shall combine 
To blend, like incense, at thy shrine. 
And Justice, wed to Love, shall be 
The pillars of Messiah's throne ; 
And Kings shall bow the subject knee, 
And to his scepter yield their own. 
XLVI. 
"But thou, (31i Rome ! mine enemy. 
In my prophetic sight I see 
That thou shalt cease to be the free ; 
Thy glory is a blood-stained thing. 
Oh thou ! who to thy yoke dost bring 



THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 



58 



The power and riches of the earth I 

Thou shalt not always sit in mirth. 
But sackcloth shall thy covering be. 
Oh ! still uprear to heedless stars 

The conqueror's memorial arch, 
Yoke captive sovereigns to his cars 

Of triumph, on the homeward march. 
Still wrench from the defenceless East 
The gems that glitter at the feast, 
And cross the cold and dark blue wave 

That beats upon the distant shore, 

In very wantonness of power, 
To make the naked savage slave. 
But know — though thou canst smile to hear 

The captive clank his galling chain- 
Eternal Justice hovers near 

To recompense thee for his pain. 
The wail of subjugated climes 
Shall yet prevail against thy crimes ; 
And, great and matchless as thou art 



54 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

Thou yet shalt know a widowed heart, 
And long and dark the years shall be 
Tliat number out thy infamy." 

XLVII. 
He ceased : one glance across the right 
Where Salem's towers wei'e bathed in light, 
Then turning one long gaze to meet 
The fatal field of his defeat — 
And with an imprecation lierce 
He lied — my vision saw him till 
He reached the woods beyond the hill — 
His further path it could not pierce. 
Oh where could Hope a covert spread 
Where he might safely rest his head ! 



END OF C^ANTO FIRST. 



THEBRIDKOFBAIUOCAB. 



CANTO THE SECOND. 



I. 

It is a festal scene to-night, 
That through tlie Governor's lattice bright 
Streams far and wide yon flashing light, 
And shines within a gayer sight ; 
Where Beauty's undisputed power, 
Alone controls tli' ecstatic hour. 
How fleet, to Music's lively sound. 
The glittering feet the floor rebound. 
While in the pauses of the dance. 
Eyes smile to Love's imploring glance. 



58 . THE BKIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

Or some to laughing circles throng 
To list the voice of Beauty's song, 
Or fence in dear but dread debate, 
Where hearts are lost to some coquette, 
Who, skilled in Cupid's fickle arts. 
Prizes all but captured hearts. 

II. 
Ruth, whose fair, faultless form and face. 
The Governor knew had added grace, 
Unto the festival and court. 
Importunate her presence sought, 
But vainly, for her faith forbade 
Such revels as the heathen had. 
Yet through her open casement floats 
The laughter and the music notes, 
And through the darkness, glitters bright 
The lamps' full radiance of light. 
But both appeals passed lightly by, 
TTnheeded by her ear or eye, 
For she recalls the eve she stood 



THE BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 59 

Within the solitary wood, 

Witli him from whose firm-plighted faith^ 
Although since that dark morn of blood, 
She heard no word of ill or good, 

She fears no frailty, — only death. 
III. 
A gentle knock upon the door. 
Admission gave the Governor, 
Who to her glanced surprise replied, 
"Oh yes, I fled a coquette's side, 
A pensive hour with thee to spend, 
My lovely, but ascetic friend. 
The festival seemed dull as care. 
When thou — the fairest — wert not there. 
Oh ! had those eyes of thine there shone. 
They had made every heart thine own ! 
But tell me why should'st thou refuse, 
And let such charms die without use. 
What harm to list to Music's sound. 
Or in the harmless dance whirl round ( 



60 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

The flowers live through their summer day 
As heaven designed, in mere disjilay ; 
The birds make life a symj^hony, 
And thou dost love their melody ; 
What evil then for thee, whose youth 
Hath bloom and melody in sooth, 
A festal night at times to spend. 
Where social joy links friend to friend?'' 

IV. 
"I have no logic," she replied, 
''That would convert thee to my side ; 
But my own heart and life to-night 
Bear witness that my course is right. 
I, too, have vainly whirled along 
To Music's notes among the throng, 
And felt my cheek blush glad to hear 
The flatteries told my giddy ear. 
But while I felt the vain wish swell 
I had no thought of heaven or hell, 
No love for God, and sadder still. 



THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. f)l 

If tlionglit of, only scorned, His will. 
But now since I have known His grace, 
I find no joy in sncli a place ; 
Where even of Pleasure's votaries 
The heart nnrested sighs for ease, 
And midst the most tiimaltnons joy, 
Fnsated, feels the pleasure cloy, 
IS'or thee, — oh ! surely life is more 
Than the mere plaything of an hour, 
But rather is a solenm trust. 
For which to give accounting just. 
The shadow of the Cross of Christ 

Is resting o'er the world beneath, 
And that life-blood there sacrificed. 

Brings fuller life or dreader death. 
It is the touchstone of the will 
That tests its tide of good or ill, 
And shows how runs the current broad, 

In unison or enmity. 
With its orginal source in God : 



62 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

How runs it, kindest friend, with thee?" 

• V. 

''I have been from my very youth 
A ceaseless searcher after truth," 
He said "Fve turned to creeds eifete, 
To find some truth there lingering yet ; 
I've tried them all, but only tried 
To turn from each unsatisfied. 
To hnd in each, though different, still 
The same old superetitious ill, 
To find in each misunderstood 
Or silence as to the supreme good. 
I've passed through all — from seeing God 
In earth and sea and sky and flower. 
And everything — himself and power. 
Till now, in all my eye beheld, 
I see no Deity unveiled, 
Nor to my bended knees hath e'er 
A God answered my fervent prayer. 
But list — my life at any time 



THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. ^^8 

Hatli been unsoiled by loathsome crime, 

For even in my boyish blood 

My heart obeyed and reverenced good ; 

At thy command I will resign 

This Governor's office which is mine, 

And we will flee to some retreat 

Where naught of sin our eyes shall meet ; 

Once there, and thon my lawful bride, 

Thy faith and prayer my soul shall guide. 

To kneel and worship at thy side — 

And if indeed the Cross reveals 

The infinite heart that throbs and feels 

For every pang of human woe. 

And sees repentant sorrows flow, 

If this indeed is infinite love, 

I long, I thirst, such love to prove : 

But thou, be thou the teacher there. 

To teach my ignorance, join my prayer." 

VI. 
He paused — her vision on his face 



64 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

Grew fixed as in its glance to trace 
His inmost heart — liis eyes of fire 
Were filled with Love's devout desire, 
Beyond the power of utterance there. 
And her eyes dropped before the glare, 
And filled with tears to answer, 'no.' 
She strove to soften it — ''I owe 

To thee what I can ne'er repay ; 
Not life — I prize it not below — 

Had the wild ruflian sought to slay, 
1 had not fied nor feared the blow, 
But more — w^iat woman prizes most 
And finds no substitute when lost — 
Her virtue — through thy power and grace, 
I 'scaped the soldier's vile embrace. 
For tliis I thank thee, and my prayer 
Shall make of thee a daily care. 
My grateful praise, my heart s esteem. 
While life holds out, or reason's beam 
Is bright within me, shall to thee 



THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 65 

Be given for tlij clemency ; 

And that is all I have — of love 

One man alone my heart can move. 

The love I plighted unto him, 

Nor time can change nor distance dim. 

And then besides I count my life 

As much his as a wedded wife, 

For with our nation, when a maid 

Is once betrothed, 'tis ne'er betrayed. 

Or to the recreant o'er her name. 

The worst blight falls of sin and shame." 

VII. 
''Fair lady, (why art thou so fair ?) 
Bar-Cocab lives not — on the plain 
He was struck down with other slain. 
'Tis the unreason of hope to bear 
The thought that he has 'scaped from there, 
Unless, indeed, he showed such care 
For his own safety as to ilee, 
And think not, care not, what chanced thee : 



66 THE BEIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

Ill any case tliou art set free. 

Why nurse a love, then, in thy breast 

That must forever be unblest '( 

And cast along thy future life, 

Too young, too sweet, to fill with strife, 

Tlie shadow of a hopeless care, 

Whose only courage is despair ?" 

VIII. 
"Thou little reck'st what thou dost ask," 
She answered, "nor how false the mask 
Which thou wouldst have me wear ; for know 
His love is all I prize below. 
Nor would I change, even be he dead. 
My affection for the spirit lied, 
For any living lover here, 
Nor could another be so dear. • 
For since my childhood's earliest bliss. 
My life has been entwined with his. 
The playmate of my youthful hours 
In more propitious times and bowers, 



THE BRIDE OF EAR-COCAB. f)7 

And when years sped liis breast was fired 
To see liis people's hopes expired, 
I felt witli him a mutual flame, 
To turn the tide that flowed their shame. 
I was his confidante — my ear 
Drank greedily his hope and fear. 
And eagerly we hoj^ed, indeed, 
And oft we talked of the high meed 
That should reward the soul that freed. 
And I with him oft shai*ed the bliss, 
Anticipative, that would be his, 
And wlien my faith was changed, his heart 
Was constant though pierced by a dart. 
Yea, though I knew there was no pain 
That man e'er felt in heart and brain, 
More sharp than his when from my lips 
He heard what seemed his hopes t' eclipse, 
He loved me still, although his face 
Worked, as his inmost thoughts did trace. 
Upon it all the heart can know 



68 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

Of baffled hope and sudden woe, 

And even left me uncontrolled 

To practice what mj conscience told, 

Although the creed my soul professed 

Was most abhorrent to his breast. 

Oh no ! my heart where'er he be 

Is wedded to his memory, 

Nor can it know another love, 

Or faithless to that memory prove." 

IX. 
"I ask no treachery," he said, 
''Unto the memory of the dead. 
Still let him have the prior part, 
The first allegiance of thy heart, 
I only ask a friend's esteem. 
Which would not falsehood be to him ; 
No more than this from thee I'd claim. 
Though pledged by ties of dearer name. 
Since he is dead, oh ! grant to me 
The right to guide and succor thee ; 



THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. ()0 

As if the dead with his last word 
Had willed it, that my suit be heard. 
And had committed to me there 
Thyself for my peculiar care. 
Wait if thou wilt until thy grief 
In time and distance finds relief. 
To test my love and find it shown 
Solicitous to win thine own ; 
But oh ! deny me not to know 
I'm dearer thee than all below. 
Nay, give me no harsh answer now, 
But ponder what I here avow. 
I leave thee to thy solitude 
To answer in a calmer mood, 
And may my heart rejoice to find 
Thy gracious will to me resigned." 

X. 
Days passed — again and oft renewed. 
His ardent suit he still pursued. 
With all the argument and art 



70 THE BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 

That love assaults an obdurate heart. - 

But still, though madly he may cope 

Her answer gave his heart no hope. 

At last, as yielding to his fate 

He seemed the less importunate, 

A week had rolled away and then 

Another ere he spoke again ; 

But oh ! how changed in that short time, 

As by an age of grief and crime 

His cheek, which had been fair with youth, 

Was white and sunken, too, in sooth, 

His brow, once smooth, was lined with pain. 

And furrowed by each starting vein. 

And his wild eye sepulchral shown 

Bright, but its beam unearthly thrown ; 

His hair unkempt, untrimmed his beard. 

And every feature worn and weird, 

And even his clothing disarranged — 

Alas, indeed, how sadly changed ! 



THE BlilDE OF BAR-COGAB. 71 

XI. 

'' Forgive, '^ she noticed as he spoke 
How Imskilj the wild words broke, 
"Forgive me if thou canst," he cried, 
"The measures wdiich despair may guide, 
I can all lioj)es but thee resign, 
I love thee, and thou shalt be mine. 
If not persuasion, then must force. 
In this last time be my resource." 

XII. 
With eyes that flashed and bosom heaving. 
She turned upon him, scarce believing 
The awful threat his words implied, 
"I would not bend to thee," she cried 
"Though thou didst to thy service bring 
Captivity's most dreaded sting. 
Shut the bright sun from these fond eyes, 
Chain these frail limbs till each one dies, 
And more than these, bring to thine aid. 
The torture — I am not dismayed ; 



Y2 THE BKIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

I scorn thee and defy thee still, 
And make no bending to thy will !'' 

xm. 
"Beware !'' he answered "oh ! beware, 
Nor spurn nie more than I can bear ; 
And think how near, ere 'tis too late, 
Is unrecjuited love to hate." 

XIV. 
"Dost call this love ( it only proves 
Such heart as thine is, never loves. 
Nay, slander not the word, nor prate 
( )f love that may be turned to hate. 
Love is no courtier that displays 
His loyalty on sunny days. 
And changes when misfortune's hour 
O'ercomes the reign of hokle power. 
It has no ebb — it knows no change, 
No jealousy and no revenge : 
It has no self-will, but will blend 
The way its deep affections tend. 



THE BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 

As ever to its proper pole 

The faithful needle owns control. 

So love, though time or distance part, 

Still pays the worship of the heart ; 

That homage, which though unreturned, 

Or scarcely owned or harshly spurned, 

Becomes the temper of the soul. 

And holds, unconsciously, control. 

Aye, love can suffer and can wait. 

But never fellowships with hate. 

'Tis said that women's eyes soon learn 

Love's latent presence to discern. 

And such I feared was in thy breast ; 

Yes, feared, since it must be unblessed, 

Thy threats have proved thy care for me 

Was less of love than vanity. 

Brave man ! who stoops his glance to lour 

Upon a captive in his power ! 

But know — I believe Bar-Cocab lives. 

Thy fear a dilferent answer gives. 



74 THE BRIDE OF BAR-OOCAB. 

And some day from thee will demand 

The life thus thrown within thy hand. 

Yet living or dead— hear thou my oath ! 

To thee I ne'er will plight a troth ; 

My vow recorded is on high, 

Rather than wed thee I would die : 

For heathen as thou art indeed, 

In barbarous nature and in creed. 

My faith forbids my life to be 

Allied in marriage thus to thee. 

Waste not thy words — thou canst not move 

My heart — I scorn thy hate or love !" 

XV. 
"I thank thee for the thought — my power 
Wonld safely shield in peril's hour 
If love enlists its sympathy, 
But oh — beware its enmity. 
Thou dost reproach my pagan creed ; 
Rash woman ! dost forget thy faith 
By lioman statutes is indeed 



THE BHIDE OK liA K-('0('Ali. 75 

A crime adjudged deserving death i 
Yet would my power protect tliee still, 
If thou art gracious to my will ; 
If not, then dread the worst extreme 
That scoffed and maddened love may seem. 
Thine is a woman's thought of love, 
Whose symbol is the timid dove. 
r cannot love and find it scoffed, 

And school my bursting heart and mind 
To meekly bear and l)e resigned ; 
My nature was not moulded soft. 
My heart was made to love but once. 
And love and find or force response. 
If. not, the scoffer shall not live 
To mock my ruined hopes, and give 
The preference to a rival's suit. 
While I must worship and be mute. 
Xay, now thou must decide thy fate. 
Shall love shield love e'er 'tis too late, 
Or dost thou scoff and brave my hate ( 



Tf> THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

XVI. 
"I, too, can love but once" she said, 
"And Laving loved, my heart is dead 
To all approach that could be made ; 
I do not fear thy power, but still 
I would not wish in aught to dare 
A desperate man's forlorn despair, 
Kor aught responsibility bear 
For his wild deeds of crime and ill. 
And yet the truth must still be said, 
And thee I will not, cannot wed. 
Yet — not because I fear the stake, 
l>ut let me plead for thine own sake : 
Beware e'er thy despair's resource 
Shall be a lifetime's vain remorse. 
For oh ! too plainly can I see 
'Twill bring more ill to thee than me. 
Such deeds so chill the guilty heart. 
Repentance oft can find no part. 
Then think how dread thy doom will be 



THE BKIDE OF BAK-(()CAB, 

Tlii'ougliout a lost eternitj.*" 

XVII. 
"'Tis idle thus to threaten woe 
To one who bliss can neA^er know ; 
Mj love seems impotent to move 
Thy bosom to responsive love ; 
Then take my hate, and with it cower 
Beneath a passion of more power.'' 
He left the room, his bondman called, 
AV^ho, at his visage shrank appalled ; 
"Slave, to my dungeon cell convey 
The Jewess saved the other day, 
Disrobe her of her garb and clothe 
Her in such dress as Christains loathe. 
Guard well thy captive — with thy head 
If she escape it will be paid." 
I'hus saying, waiting no reply, 

He entered in his room of state 

To seal judicially his hate. 
And sign the writ that Euth should die, 



78 TIIK BRI])K OF BAR-COCA B. 

Yet Oil Ill's -liaggard brow, the gloom 
Might seem the shadow cast of doom, 
That fall on such beyond the tomb. 
While in this life his vengeful l)rain 
And heart nigh bursting in its pain 
Distinguish him another Cain. 

XVIII. 
The hours creep slowly on toward night, 
The lessening sun i-etires from sight. 
Yet, ere tlie stars that nightly shine 
To mark the gaudy day's decline, 
Have wlieeled their glittering ranks in line, 
The tidings wide have spread, and seem 
Of speech the sole absorbing theme, 
And wake such interest even pride 
xVncestral, ceases to divide. 
And Gentiles freely with the Jew 
rutiringly the theme renew. 
The victim's beauty and the doom 
So awful in that beauty's ])loom ; 



TIIK HRTDK OF HAK-(H^rAH. iH 

And vague iiisiimatioiis thrown, 
Her crime was not her faith alone, 
And all the air of mystery 
Of what her nnknown rank might be. 
During the three days given of grace. 
Conjecture strives in vain to trace — 
And adds more interest to the case. 

XIX. 
And she, the victim of his hate, 
How doth she bear her altered state ? 
Hath dungeon fare and fear repressed 
The constant courage of her breast '( 
The difference from her glittering room 

With all that luxury could provide 
Of that damp dungeon's rayless gloom. 

Hath this, too, crushed her spirit's pride ( 
Kay, faith, to her unshaken breast 
Hath given more than earthly rest, 
As trusting Him whose presence near 
Can make a prison shine with cheer. 



80 THE BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 

She leans upon His faithfulness 
To hold lier with almighty grace, 
Assured a brighter crown to wear 
A¥itli Him for whom she suffers here. 
She hears Him bid her troubling cease. 
And feels her heart tilled with His peace ; 
And twice, for now two days hath tlown 
Since she was in the dungeon thrown, 
She hath lain down to slumbers deep 
As peaceful as an infant's sleep. 

XX 
Not so to her destroyer passed 
The hours since he beheld her last. 
Before his sleep-deserted eyes 
In constant view her features rise ; 
His mansion turned to solitude, 
Where he forbade in his wild mood 
Aught but his servants to intrude, 
Who shudder as they pass him by. 
At that mad glance and bloodshot eye. 



THE BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. Si 

Or by the half-closed doorway crouch 
To proffer food he scarce will touch. 
For there for hours he sits alone 
And motionless and heeding none, 
There, in that room, where oft he came 
To see her whom they dare not name. 
That room was hers, and is the same 
As when she left it — naught is changed, 
Kot even a curtain disarranged. 
It seems to soothe his frenzy there 
To sit him down upon her chair. 
And bend his head upon his hands 
And think — but who e'er understands 
The frenzied thoughts of that despair. 
Which, when Remorse the spirit rends 
'Twixt pride that neither sleeps nor bends, 
And Conscience's reproving tone 
Feels Reason totter on her throne ^: 

XXI. 
But oft he startles from the chair 



82 THE BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 

With eyes that like a madman's glare, 
And flees from room to gilded room, 
As if he fled Orestes' doom ; 
And words of more than earthly fear 
Fall on each frightened bondman's ear. 
And tell how in his crazy mood 
He deems that Are consumes his blood. 
And all apart from mortal life 
His sjDirit writhes in deatliless strife ; 
And round him, as witliin him, plays 
The tortures of that endless blaze 
Which is reserved unquenchable. 
For those whose black lives merit hell. 
Or, perhaps, recurring to its cause, 
The vision that his frenzy draws 
Pictures a maiden, young and fair. 
Whose eyes implore his soul to spare, 
And on her naked limbs are stains 
That show the bruise of galling chains 
Fpon their gleaming whiteness there ; 



THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 83 

And near her, in tlie act to spring, 

He sees a lion balancing 

That springs, but missing her, has pressed 

Its shaggy form against his breast ; 

He feels the sharp remorseless teeth 

Crush through him as he lies beneath. 

So vivid is his fancy's sight 

Exhausted nature faints outright ; 

But when revived his mind grows clear, 

He curses at his frenzied fear, 

And hastens to his room to hide 

The shame of his unhumbled pride. 

XXII. 
It was the second night that fell 
Since Ruth was pent in dungeon cell ; 
The stars were marshalled in the sky, 
The moon was bright, half heaven high, 
The wind had died, so calm, so still, 
Not even an echo left the hill. 
The Governor in his favorite room 



84 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

Had seen the early shadows gloom, 
And on that cloudless heaven and clear, 
Had watched the glittering stars appear 
As if (as ancient sybils say 
There were in their prophetic ray 
The destinies of men indeed) 
He strove his future there to read. 
Oh, long he looked along that scene, 

And seemed to feel his fevered breast 

Soothed into something like to rest ; 
Beneath those rays so calm yet keen. 
And long, perchance, he still had gazed, 
Save as a casual eye he raised 
I^nto a star that shone so bright 
Upon the dark blue plain of night. 
He chose it for his future's flight ; 
When down through those still depths of air 

It fell, a luminous trail of light 

That faded into utter night. 
It chilled him with a worse despair. 



THE BKIDE OF BAK-(X)CAB. 



Sf) 



''The stars,'' he murnuired,"in the sky. 

Betoken curses from on high.'' 

Kor could he wish to look again 

Upon that brilliant, starry plain, 

But turned, so slight a thing can change, 

His heart on maddening thoughts to range. 

. XXIII. 
Long hours that room he paces 'round 
And by his footfalls' echoed sound. 
Awakes the slaves who hear with dread 
That hurried, tireless, ceaseless tread. 
When lo ! a shriek their ears appall — 
A wild despairing shriek — a fall. 
And then a gurgling cry of pain. 
And silence ominous again : 
They list a moment still to hear 
That footfall echo to the ear ; 
Then rush witli bated breath dismayed. 
And lighted tapers, to his aid, 
Although their heavy hearts forbode 



S6 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

Their help could bring their lord no good. 

XXIV. 
How dread the scene that meets their sight 
By the frail taper's flickering light. 
There, scarcely dead, their master laid, 
Mis l)ody pierced through by his blade; 
I n his wild frenzy thus their lord 
Had Hung himself upon his sword. 
A pool of blood drips in their view, 
The floor absorbs the sanguine hue, 
His body warm — his arms still shake 
At the half-timid touch they make ; 
His eyes roll once at that mild touch. 
Then close forever in reproach. 
They bear him softly to the bed. 
But ere they lay him he is dead. 
The needless leech they send for still 
Confirms the fear he has no skill ; 
Too sure the aim of his despair. 
To leave a hope of saving there. 



THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 8< 

XXV. 

To Eath, although the deed fullilled 
The prophecy she feared, not willed, 
The end so swiftly came — the blow 
Subdued her heart and chilled her brow. 
And fast and sympathizing fell 
The first tears shed within her cell, 
And more regret her lips express 
Than ever for her own distress. 
The jailer views, amazed, the scene 
Of her, who, until now had been 
In that dark cell as calm as though 
She had no sense nor fear of woe. 
Weep feelingly for him whose hate 
Had doomed her to that awful fate. 
But little could he know, and live 
'Mid scenes of battle and of strife. 
With stern revenge and rancor rife, 
How much a woman can forgive. 



88 THE BRIDE OF EAR-COCAB. 

XXVI. 

It is not Battle's liery mood 

That shows the noblest fortitude. 

Xor he, who dies as Brutns died 

The suicide of his own pride, 

Who flees from life, nor dares to meet 

The scoff, the humbling of defeat, 

Of Circumstance thelielpless slave. 

Can call his temper truly l)rave ; 

Xor he, whom pains nor dangers great 

Deter not his determined hate, 

Though thwarted oft, intent to range 

Until it dies or wreaks revenge. 

Can pluck from Truth the estimate 

( )f soul heroic, grand or great. 

But those who could, like Buth, thus brave 

The criminal cell — the martyr's grave, 

Nor yield unto the tyrant's might 

Their simple loyalty to right, 

And the oppressor stricken low, 



THE BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 89 

Forgiv^e his wrong and mourn his woe, 
Display a heroism as high 

Above mere ignorance of fear, 
As noonday snn and arching sky 

Are high o'er earth and objects here. 
XXVII. 
It does not to her thought occur 
Th' effect his death may have on her, 
How the lone hope her bosom pent. 
That at the last he might relent, 
With love triumphing over hate 
And snatch her from that awful fate. 
Was finally forever gone. 
It comes though with the morrow's sun 
That rising, ushers into birth 
The last day she will sj^end on earth. 
It comes but not disturbs the mind. 
That fixed on heaven is resigned ; 
For with that vividness of faith 
With which new converts spurn at death. 



90 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

xlnd long to walk in calm delight 

Those scenes where Faith is changed to sight, 

She feels in lier impatient breast, 

A yearning to embrace the test, 

And win what gleams before her eyes, 

The choicest hope — a martyr's j)rize — 

Where seems a rapture in the j)ain. 

To those who such reward obtain. 

She does not boast the pangs to feel, 

And her belief in blood to seal. 

Without a shudder or a groan 

From lacerated flesh and bone. 

But as her memor}^ pondered o'er 

That host who greater sufferings bore, 

Since Stephen testifying stood 

And sealed his witness in his blood, 

And knew how strength direct from heaven 

Unto its bleeding saints was given. 

She felt assured who was her trust 

Would show His strength thro' her weak dust. 



THE BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 91 

And prove tlie apostle's words ere long : 
"When I am weak then I am stronfir." 

o 

XXVIII. 

And yet she was a woman too, 

To all her sex's instincts trne — 

A saint, wdio thongh of spiritnal mood. 

Yet had not lost her human blood — 

A woman with such lovely face, 

Snch grace her every motion in. 
That not to praise were want of grace. 

And not to love were almost sin ; 
A beauty who at times appears 
'Now wreathed in smiles, now bathed in tears, 
Who would delight in love's young bliss — 
To give and to receive a kiss ; 
A woman with a woman's breast 
To love, be praised, and be caressed ; 
And not too much an anchorite, 
Her social tastes and charms to blight. 
But who could cheer a husband's life 



92 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

With tlie devotion of a wife : 



Could rouse his hopes, could soothe his fears 
With every fondness that endears, 
And yet with faults and human ill. 
That prove her more a woman still. 

XXIX. 
The sun awakes — how callous still, 
All nature seems to human ill, 
And pitiless, on land or main, 
With glory veils or mocks man's pain. 
Who ever knew the sky less blue. 

The morning sun less warm or bright, 
Although some sufferer lingering through 

The cooler hours of grateful night, 
But feels liis awful pains renew, 

And only sees to curse the light. 
The battle-fields with blood bedewed, 
A populous town made solitude. 
Old Nature sends her thoughtless rain, 
Th' unconscious flowers there sjjring again, 



THE BRIDE OE BAR-(X)rAB. 98 

And though an empire there entombs, 
She still as sweetly sings and blooms. 

XXX. 
Such morning dawned on Kutli's dread day, 
And mocked her with its brightest ray. 
The early matin lay she heard 
Of many an unimprisoned bird. 
Which rose above her dungeon dun, 
With gladsome notes to greet the sun ; 
The free winds through the prison waft 
The odors of the flowers they qnaffed ; 
She heard the rustling of the trees 
Swayed into motion by the breeze, 
And watched the sunliglit as it fell 
Through the slant windows of her cell. 
Until the jailer brought her food, 
And thus disturbed her solitude. 

XXXI. 
The theater that Herod built, 

Still in its pride of beauty stood ; 



94 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

Its slmfts elaborately lie wed 
From costliest white marble, filled 
With hatred old Jerusalem 
Whose bigotry abhorred tliat gem, 
And scorned tlie efforts of his reign 
To reconcile them to their pain, 
And hide the subjugating chain 
The tyrant forged around their rights. 
By splendid domes and pleasure sites. 
In vain he sought to win their hearts : 
They hated him and scoffed his arts, 
Yet had they known the time would come 
That there would be the martyrdom 
Of an apostate from their creed, 
They had forgiven him tlie deed 
In rearing close their temple by 
That pile they deemed profanely nigh. 

XXXII. 
But never since it had been built. 
Had such a ^atherins^ in it filled, 



THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 05 

As at tir appointed time had come 
To witness Ruth's harsh martyrdom ; 
For free to all to celebrate 
His advent to his new estate, 
The Governor's successor had 
Unto the scene his subjects bade, 
With promised drama, but the crowd 
With curbed restraint, or whispers loud. 
Await the final scene — in them 
The music soft, the sparkling gem, 
(3r play-c[ueen's mimic diadem, 
Or nimble dancer ne'er at rest 
Awake but little interest. 
But tier o'er tier — a countless throng. 
The arch and galleries among. 
Await with deep impatience there 
To see Ruth's advent and despair ; 
And even woman's gentler soul 
Is barred to mercy's mild control. 
And views witliout solicitude 



90 THE BRIDE OF EAR-COCAB. 

Tlie scene that sheds a sister's blood ; 
While on a seat apart and high, 
The Governor looks with stoic eye. 

XXXIII. 
The longed for scene arrives — of all 
The one which holds their hearts in thrall. 
'Tis strange that morbid, mad dehght 
With which the sonl can crave such sight, 
Tliat fester in the human breast, 
Extreme in some, in most repressed ; 
And yet in all to some degree, 
And fired to Hame so easily. 
That even the mildest, gentlest mood 
Feels the contagion stir its blood 
Amid a morbid nmltitude ; 
That passion, like the tiger thirst, 
When once in human gore immersed. 
That, satiate of former food. 
Will taste no flesh but human blood. 
Attest it such a scene as this. 



THE BKIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 

Wliere beauty joins its winesses 
And even in modern times again 
The cruel sport of sunny Spain, 
Still shows that temper fanned to flame 
Without the blusli of natural shame, 
Where even the gentlest natures see, 
With wild delight, the agony 
Burning in every bleeding vein 
Of helpless creatures crazed with pain. 

XXXIV. 
The motley crowd grew hushed as death, 
xA.nd Expectation held its breath, 
As, with a mighty roar, each beast 
In the arena was released. 
But first, the crier did advise 
The crime for which the victim dies. 
Such sins he charged the Christain name 
As roused the mob to wilder fiame, 
And crushed each struggling feeling low 
That pleaded pity on her woe. 



98 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

The jailer led Ruth gently there, 
As if he were compassionate 
And mourned for her terrific fate, 
And scorned the multitude's wild hate 
That could destroy a thing so fair ; 
And stood upon the parapet 

That guarded from the dangerous place, 
Where the gaunt heasts crouch low, *or 
Each other round the enclosed space, [chase 
And waited — for no signal yet. 
The Governor's motionless hands display. 
That he shall cast the beasts their prey. 

XXXV. 
A murmur 'scaped the multitude, 
As there before them all slie stood. 
Of admiration — surely ne'er 
Had e'er they seen a face more fair. 
The youthful bloom was scarcely pale 
Upon a cheek that told no tale 
Of terror — each large lustrous eye 



THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. ^M 

Had never beamed more l)rig]it and dry ; 

]^o fear sliook her undaunted breast, 

But cahn with peace and self-possessed, 

She turned upon the populace 

The sunshine of her holy gaze, 

As might some heavenly creature fair. 

Who for a moment had lit there. 

Glance on them consciously still safe, 

Howe'er their powerless rage might chafe. 

So fell her glance on them — but they 

Felt no remorse or pity pray 

In their wild hearts, the beasts that champed 

Their hungry jaws and fought and stamped 

In the arena, had more grace 

Than that infuriate populace. 

XXXVI. 
The Governor yet delays — oli say ! 
Hath mercy finally gained the day 
And triumphed o'er the wish to slay 'i 
Will he forgive the Christian creed 



lOO THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

That is to him a crime indeed? 

And dare he thwart the frenzied mood 

Of that bloodthirsty mnltitnde ? 

In sooth, lie is far more than brave 

If at this hour he dares to save. 

But why the pause ? while wild and loud, 

The clamor rises of the crowd ; 

He stands as if irresolute, 

Attentive to a stranger's suit. 

Which must be of a grave import 

At such a place t' engage his thought. 

Then leaning, waves his hand, to gain 

Their ear and the delay explain — 

"This stranger brings unto my ear 

Strange tidings of a danger near ; 

Which, though I deem them dubious, sooth. 

An hour confirms or proves untruth. 

But few weeks since I only knew 

Bar-Cocab as an outcast Jew, 

The leader of lawless horde 



THE BKTDE OF BAR-COCAB. 101 

Whom pillage was the sole reward, 
Until the later tidings bore 
Of Jew revolt from Roman power, 
With him to lead the rebel force : 
And then came in snccessive conrse 
The news of desperate battle fonght, 
His force destroyed — himself nncanght. 
This stranger fled from his command, 
Brings me strange tidings of his band ; 
How that Bar-Cocab 'scaped again 
Unto the remnant of his men, 
From many a distant province draws 
A new support unto his cause; 
Of whom til' informer here was one. 
But, for some evil to him done, 
And by his chief repeated long, 
Kow seeks revenge for his deep wrong 
And will Bar-Cocab's plans betray — 
Ho ! rescue ! seize her ! traitor stay !" 



102 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

XXXVII. 

Too late to foil the rescue planned. 
Unknown to Rutli — ])j those who lied 
That fatal held of ruin red 
To grasp from his consenting hand 
The prisoner whom the jailer held ; 
Who, largely bribed and fully taught, 
All unsuspected, as he brought 
The victim where the lions fought, 
Had chosen a place to stand and wait 
The Governor's signal, near a gate ; 
The farthest from the crowd, but near, 
Where mounted men outside appear. 
And as the stranger's word compelled 

The Governor his tale to hear, 
And for a moment to him drew 
The multitude's attention too. 
Few saw the treachery consummated 
Nor marked how, springing out tlie gate 
The jailer bore a lovely weight ; 



THE BKIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 108 

And joining there the three who waited, 
He mounts a steed that saddled stood. 
And with them galloped nnpiirsned, 
Till, by the Governor's cry recalled, 
The audience beheld, appalled 
And powerless then to stop them sped. 
The prey they deemed secnre had fled. 

XXXIII. 
Within a chaos reigned, that made 
For his escape a welcome aid, 
As, leaping from the Governor's grasp, 
The stranger did his sword unclasp 
And almost gained the outer door, 
So fierce and fast his way he bore, 
When rose a voice the uproar o'er — 
"It it is Bar-Cocab's self," it cries, 
Seize him ere yonder door he tries.'' 
Already one is dead who thought 
To bar the egress that he sought. 
Another feels his dangerous blade ; 



104 THP] BKIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

But all in vain — the crowd liave made 
Concerted onslaught where he stood, 
And thrown to earth, he is subdued. 

XXXIX. 
Loud execrations load the air 
Against the captive pinioned there, 
Who bravely owned his name — nor quailed 
Before the hatred that assailed ; 
But cast his fearless eye along 
That maddened, disappointed throng, 
As if amid a feast's repose 
Instead of circled round with foes, 
Who even of his own nation stood 
Alike athirst to shed his blood. 
The hearts that yesterday had bled 
To save him in the cause he led, 
Are turned from him who snatch'd from death 
The loathed apostate from their faith. 
And deem him by that act displayed 
Alike with her a renegade. 



THE EKIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 1(>5 

XL. 

His eyes roam slowly round the plaoe, 

And glance defiance at each face, 

Then fall on the arena's space ; 

They rested but a moment there, 

To see the lions' eyeballs glare, 

Yet quicker than a flash, the tliouglit. 

The fevered multitude hath caught, 

"The lions !" is the awful cry ; 

Such fate aw^ait the treacherous spy ; 

He robbed us of our sport — 'tis fair 

Himself another prey prepare." 

That cry that more impatiently 

Rolls on, may not resisted be. 

They loose his bands, but unarmed yet. 

They fling liim o'er the parapet ; 

AVith one wild roar that rolls along 

Like thunder echoing hills among, 

The lions rush upon their prey. 

And crunch '' '^- "^ '' ^ 



106 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 

XLI. 

But Ruth, tlnis saved from martyr strife 
A gentler evening ends her life, 
Devoted by her willing vow. 
To Heaven only here below. 
In fasts and prayers and choral song, 
And deeds of love and vigils long. 
Where poverty and dread disease, 
Upon their hapless victims seize. 
She makes no reference to the past. 
And if her thoughts are on it cast, 
Th' occasional sigh alone betrays, 
The memory of other days. 
And so beloved and loving all. 
The shadows of the long year's fall. 
While she awaits with patient faith, 
The hour that crowns her even in death. 

Brooklyn, N. Y., October 15, 1881. 
FINIS. 



